


progress

by youcouldmakealife



Series: always in tandem [51]
Category: Original Work
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-22
Updated: 2019-04-22
Packaged: 2020-01-24 04:46:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18564196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youcouldmakealife/pseuds/youcouldmakealife
Summary: “That’s life,” Daniel says. “Everything’s a process. There aren’t any shortcuts.”Georgie wants one so badly.





	progress

Georgie talks to Daniel a lot in the coming days. Daniel asks to talk to him every other day, and it sounds like too much, sounds excessive, like something someone on the edge would need, not — it sounds excessive. But Georgie still calls him at the allotted time.

They don’t talk about what isn’t in his control, the whole laundry list of it — Robbie, the season, his team, his own fucking feelings. Instead, they talk about what is. His drinking, and the way he doesn’t do it in public anymore, not like he used to, that every time it goes to far, it happens at home, where there’s no one he can hurt but himself. 

“You have control over that,” Daniel says, sounding approving. Imagine being proud of someone for keeping their self-destruction to themself. 

“It’s progress, Georgie,” Daniel says, when he says as much. “You can be proud of progress. You _should_ be proud of progress. You don’t expect everything to happen at once when it comes to training, why is this any different?”

“Because that’s hockey,” Georgie says.

“That’s life,” Daniel says. “Everything’s a process. There aren’t any shortcuts.”

Georgie wants one so badly.

*

Everything’s a process. They win some games. They win more games than they lose. They’re looking at the playoffs again this year, and the novelty hasn’t worn off, exactly, but it doesn’t give him the rush of nerves as they get closer that it did his first year with the Caps. Though nerves were the least of his problems, then. Nerves were almost welcome.

He doesn’t go out with the Caps. Or, he does, but he has one or two, and then he leaves, whether it’s at home or out of town. Robbie doesn’t ask him about it again. Maybe he notices, maybe he doesn’t. Georgie’s life doesn’t revolve around Roberto Lombardi.

God, he wishes that didn’t sound so much like a lie.

He plays well. He sleeps shitty. He talks to Daniel more than he did before that drunken call but less than in the immediate aftermath. Daniel calls it conditioning. That’s the nice thing about having a sports therapist — Georgie feels less like an abject failure if he thinks about therapy like he thinks about hockey. Just because you’re in great shape doesn’t mean you can stop working out.

Not that he could say he’s in great shape. Physically, sure. He does that conditioning too. But he’s pretty sure his head’s still a mess. Daniel helps, a bit. Reframes things. Failures become positives in Daniel’s hand. Who gives a shit if Georgie drinks too much sometimes if he makes sure to avoid the habits that used to come with it? Who cares if he’s still pathetically hung up on Robbie, if he’s making sure not to repeat the self-destructive spiral that was his first year on the Caps? He’s a less shitty Georgie than he was before, and he should be happy about that.

Obviously he doesn’t say it like that, but it’s what Georgie’s hearing. 

“You should be proud of yourself,” Daniel says, at one point, and Georgie has a hard time remembering the last time he was. It’s been awhile.

*

It’s not all bad shit. Georgie’s started making his way to the gym not just on home game nights, but every night he’s at home, less for the workout and more for the company. Melissa isn’t there every night — he’s pretty sure she only works out after her shifts, and she doesn’t work seven days a week — but she’s there often enough, and unpredictably enough, that he makes the effort.

Melissa’s one of the good things in his life right now, one of the only ones, outside of hockey. And even then, hockey’s all tangled up in everything else — hockey means Robbie, and awkward meals sometimes because Elliott’s taken it in his head to eat with him sometimes, something Georgie knows is well intentioned but feels a little like pity, and dipping out of team events so he doesn’t punch Ted’s smug, satisfied face, and —

Melissa’s one of the only good things right now. He doesn’t tell Daniel about her. He doesn’t know why: he’d probably be approving, the same as Georgie’s mom, think that was progress too, having a friend outside the team, hell, having a _friend_ , but. He doesn’t tell him.

Of course he fucks that up too. He walks into the gym genuinely exhausted after back-to-back games, telling himself he’ll go easy, maybe just a jog, because he played close to thirty minutes tonight after Mikko took a puck off the ankle early, and he’s feeling every single one of them. It probably would have been best to go home, get some sleep, but he he’s got that itchiness under his skin right now, and even if he wanted to go out with the guys, everyone else seems to be going the sleeping it off routine tonight.

Melissa doesn’t wave when he comes in. Melissa, in fact, stops jogging, shuts down her treadmill, and marches up to him, looking faintly furious. He’s got something like nine inches on her, but he still finds himself taking a wary step backwards.

“You,” Melissa says, poking him hard in the chest. “Did not tell me you were a Washington Capital, asshole.”

Shit. He probably should have expected this — the Caps are strong this season and the city’s excited about their chances — but. Shit.

“I told you I was an athlete!” Georgie says. “I told you I play games out of town!”

“I didn’t think that meant NHLer!” Melissa says. “I got dragged to a Capitals game by my friend, and when they did a close up on you after your goal I said ‘hey, that’s my gym friend’, like an _idiot_.”

“You had to get dragged to a Caps game?” Georgie asks.

“Sorry dude, Nats or nothing for me,” Melissa says. “But seriously, Dineen.”

“That’s not fair,” Georgie says. “Now you’ve got my last name, you’ve got the upper hand.”

“You’re the one with the dumbass secret,” Melissa mutters. “Stone.”

“What?” Georgie asks.

“It’s Stone,” Melissa says. “Now that I’ve found out your secret identity.”

“It wasn’t a secret,” Georgie says weakly. “I just—”

“If you do some poor little rich boy ‘I wanted someone to like me for _me_ ’, I’m going to laugh in your face,” Melissa says. “And I was going to ask you _out_ , God.”

“Why can’t you ask me out?” Georgie says.

“Because you’re a liar, and I don’t date liars,” Melissa says, and Georgie flinches. 

“I omitted,” he says. 

“Same difference,” Melissa says. 

“People treat you differently when they know,” Georgie says.

“Aw, fuck, it _was_ a poor little rich boy thing,” Melissa says. “You can’t even be original about it.”

“I just liked you,” Georgie says. “I liked hanging out with you. I didn’t want to fuck that up.”

Melissa squints at him.

“What?” Georgie asks.

“You want to go out sometime?” Melissa asks.

“I thought you didn’t date liars,” Georgie says.

“Don’t lie to me again,” Melissa says. “Plus, it’s one date. Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

“Okay,” Georgie says.

“You free on Friday?” Melissa asks.

“Yeah,” Georgie says.

“Okay,” Melissa says. “You’re taking me out to dinner. Somewhere expensive, big shot hockey player.”

“I’m medium shot at best,” Georgie says, and she looks especially pretty when she laughs.

*

Georgie worries about it, after. Goes home that night, texts Melissa to have a good night, and stares at the ceiling for awhile, wondering if he’s fucked things up, because what does it say about him that the first time he seems to genuinely make a friend in this city, he’s risking it? She’s the one who asked him out, but she doesn’t seem like the kind of person who’d ghost him if he turned her down, and it might be awkward for a bit, but he thinks they’d still be gym friends in the end. Georgie honestly needs a little stability right now, he’s not exactly getting it anywhere else, and here he is, jeopardizing it because Melissa Stone cracks him up and makes him feel — he doesn’t know. Normal, maybe. He hasn’t been feeling normal for awhile.

They leave town the next morning, away until late Thursday, and Georgie wonders if Melissa knew that, if she asked if he was free Friday knowing that he didn’t have a game that night. Either way, he won’t see her before it, and they text a little, back and forth, just stuff about their days, and it continues to feel normal and Georgie hopes that’s a good sign.

Mom calls before his game Thursday night, like she’s sniffed out there’s news — or like she calls him all the time, more likely, but it still feels timely. He almost doesn’t tell her about the date, because he doesn’t want to let her down if it doesn’t come to anything, but then, he’s pretty sure she’d be happy even if it didn’t. That he was even bothering to go out at all. She’s almost as gung-ho about progress as Daniel is.

“I have a date tomorrow,” he says, when she gets through her dad and Will and Dicky updates and asks him if he has any news of his own. Presumably this will be given to dad and Will and Dicky in their Georgie updates, but that’s okay, he guesses.

“That’s great!” mom says, immediately. “With your gym friend?”

Georgie has no clue how mom always seems to know things before they tell her, but it’s still faintly terrifying, even as an adult. 

“Yeah,” Georgie says. 

“So she’s definitely cute, then,” she says with satisfaction.

“Yeah,” Georgie says. “She is.”

“I’m really glad, sweetie,” she says.

“I’m not—” Georgie says.

“Even if you don’t feel like you’re ready for a new relationship yet,” mom says. Like Georgie said: before they tell her. “It’s a big step. I’m proud of you.”

Well. At least someone is.

*

Georgie picked somewhere expensive, but not too expensive for their date — good food, but no one’s going to side eye you if you show up in less than formal wear, because Melissa doesn’t seem like the type of person who’d pull out a fancy dress for the first date. Not that he’s seen her in anything but gym clothes, her work clothes, which seems to consistently be a black t-shirt and jeans. Not that he actually knows her at all.

That’s stupid: they’ve spent literal hours talking about their lives. He didn’t know her last name until this week, but he knows she’s the oldest kid, same as him, but of four instead of three, knows she did two and a half years of college before quitting — pretty close to same as him, though obviously the quitting circumstances were different.

He knows she really likes her job most of the time, and she feels like she’s the only one at her work that does, that she has an app for trying new craft beers, tries to make sure she samples at least one or two new ones a week, and that she likes to taste test obscure cocktails on the some of her more adventurous regulars. He knows she works out to upbeat electro-pop stuff he doesn’t really like — they swapped music one night and it lasted about ten minutes before they made a mutual decision to swap back. He knows her better already than he’s ever known anyone on the first date, with one obvious exception.

Melissa shows up right on time, five minutes after him, in dark wash jeans and a t-shirt under a cardigan — one of those sleek fabric t-shirts that look dressier than plain cotton ones, but a t-shirt all the same — and Georgie feels good, knowing he made the right choice.

“I’m getting a steak the size of my head,” Melissa says before they even open their menus.

“I don’t think they have twenty ounce ones,” Georgie says.

“You,” Melissa says, pointing her fork at him. “Would deserve me ordering two ten ounce steaks just for that.”

She orders only one steak, and only eight ounces, rare, and snorts at him when he orders his own steak medium well.

“Why not order a burger at that point?” she asks, sounding dead on like at least five of his former teammates. Steaks are a contentious issue among hockey players, especially at the frequency they’re eaten. “Well-done is a waste of a good cut of meat.”

Georgie shrugs. “Tastes fine to me.”

“Yeah,” Melissa says. “ _Fine_. That’s the point, Georgie, good steak shouldn’t taste _fine_.”

His steak is pretty good — Melissa looks at him disbelievingly when he says so, but it is — the wine they’re drinking nice. He’s going through it too fast, though, already had it refilled once. He’s nervous, he thinks. It’s been a long time since he’s been on an Official Date. He honestly doesn’t have that much practice at it.

He takes another sip of wine, feels it burn as it goes down, a little like the shots they’d do in college, when they didn’t bother with mixer, the cheap vodkas that tasted more like rubbing alcohol than anything else, a little like acid reflux in reverse.

“I don’t know if I’m — I’m not really in the place for a monogamous relationship or anything,” Georgie says, because if he doesn’t he thinks he’ll choke on the next sip.

Melissa puts her knife down, her fork, observing him, and he can’t look her in the eye.

“Did I ask for that?” Melissa says.

“No,” Georgie says. “I just wanted to be honest about it. I’m not sure I’m—” 

What, capable of it? That sounds pathetic.

“Dude, it’s the first date,” Melissa says. “It’s a little premature to bring up the big relationship things.”

“I know,” Georgie says. And he does, though it’s abstract, he guesses. He’s had relationships, obviously, but not since college, and he’s sure the rules are different. In college you tend to jump with both feet — there’s no real dating, you’re either a one-night-stand, a fuckbuddy, or someone’s significant other, all right away. A snap decision. Adulthood is, well — Georgie’s getting sick of the word ‘process’. “I’m just — I figure if that’s something that’s a dealbreaker, it’s better to tell you up front.”

“Fair enough,” she says, then goes back to her steak.

“Is it?” Georgie asks, when she doesn’t say anything else.

“Nope,” she says, and the twist in his stomach is — complicated. He’s not sure how he feels.

“Okay,” he says. “That’s good.”

“This steak’s so delicious it’s actively upsetting me,” Melissa says, and Georgie thinks — he thinks that’s it? It shouldn’t be it. It’s too easy to be it. “How’s your overpriced burger?”

“Also delicious, plus blood-free,” Georgie says.

“The blood gives it _flavor_ ,” she says, and grins at him, and he thinks — he thinks that’s actually it.

They split dessert — Georgie figures what his nutritionist doesn’t know won’t hurt him, plus it’s not as bad when it’s only half a slice of cake — get coffee after, hers Irish, his just with milk and sugar. Lingering, he feels like he isn’t imagining. Making it last.

Georgie has the weird urge to ask if she wants to go work out or something, not because he actually wants to, but just because — it felt easy at the gym, organic, and now it feels a little fraught. It’s nothing she’s doing, she’s honestly acting the same as always, funny stories about her co-workers and two regulars who clearly fucked and now can’t be in the bar at the same time and her little sister’s recent decision to go to culinary school even though she barely makes toast for herself, let alone anything else. The restaurant’s pretty empty by the time they ask for the bill, and Melissa offers to pay half, an offer he turns down. He doesn’t know what she makes, but it’s definitely not seven figures.

This is usually the point Georgie would take someone home. He honestly can’t remember the last time he didn’t sleep with someone at the end of the first date. Hell, he usually does that _instead_ of a first date. Instead he keeps her company while she waits for her Uber, figures he’ll order one after so he doesn’t potentially get one before she does, leave her waiting alone.

“Would you want to do this again sometime?” Georgie asks.

“I’d like that,” Melissa says. “On me next time, though.”

“Cool,” Georgie says. “Cool.”

Melissa looks down at her phone as a car pulls up in front of them. “My ride,” she says, then, after confirming with the driver, pokes her head out the door. “You going to kiss me or what, Dineen?”

She’s smiling against his mouth when he does, and he finds himself doing the same his whole ride home, like her smile left an imprint on his lips.


End file.
